


and sung me moon-struck

by orphan_account



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Incest Mention, M/M, molestation mention, rape mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-16 17:42:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2278794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>if it had been up to him, michael would have been the first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and sung me moon-struck

**Author's Note:**

> **very, very strong tw for mentions of trevor's rape and molestation. **  
> ****
> 
>  
> 
> could be considered a prequel to [the anointed cherub that covereth](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2211879).

Trevor is twelve when he has sex for the first time. She’s a friend of his mother’s, and she says he’s handsome, and she’s knows what’s she’s doing. She’ll make him feel good. She touches him and he doesn’t mean to let it happen, but she must not see it when he shakes his head and she must not hear it when he asks her to stop, because she smiles at him and makes noises that hit something in his chest he didn’t know existed before. It doesn’t feel good.

After, there are others. Girls and boys and anyone else, anywhere they’ll have him. He’s not picky. There are a few who stand out of course (his mother’s clawed hand springs, unbidden, into his mind and he feels nauseous) but mostly, its people who hardly even exist, they’re so forgettable. It starts to feel good. If he gives it away, no one can take it from him. He doesn’t feel better, but he feels stronger. 

Trevor is nineteen when he falls in love for the first and last time. He lays eyes on Michael and Trevor's concrete heart feels like it’s cracking in half to make room enough for him to dwell there. Michael is like no one he’s ever known—he’s smart and sturdy and capable of a shocking sort of tenderness that Trevor hasn’t received in the past. Not the sweeping, romantic sort of gentility that’s in Michael’s favorite movies, but a more subtle, human sort. The kind that manifests in remembered birthdays and Sprunk for his hangover, and an only slightly delayed “Love you too, bro.” the first time Trevor accidentally blurts the truth. 

And when he is twenty, Michael fumbles between his legs in the middle of a freezing night on a dirty motel mattress, and Trevor loses his virginity. Michael may not be the first man Trevor has fucked, but he’s the only one that counts. It’s not glamorous—there are no rose petals or good music or plush sheets. But there is Michael’s scent, and Michael’s hands, and Michael’s weight, and that is enough to make it perfect. 

It’s not his idea, actually. It’s not that he hasn’t thought about it, because he has. So much, in fact, that he’s impressed he hasn’t pulled his dick right the fuck off of his body for jerking off over it. But it’s Michael who runs a hand up Trevor’s leg when they’re sitting on his bed, watching the news because they don’t get anything else on the black and white TV in the shitty motel. It’s Michael whose breath smells like alcohol when he whispers that it’s not such a big deal, just a harmless romp between friends. And it’s definitely Michael who leans in and slots their mouths together, barely off-center and more than a little sloppy. 

And of course, Trevor is his. He has been since he first saw him. Michael doesn’t have to croon his sweet, poisonous lies to him to get Trevor to fuck him, but Trevor likes hearing them all the same. Hollow things still sound pretty, Trevor knows, and Michael's words are like flutes and church bells in his ears. And _of course_ they end up like this, with Trevor’s legs spread like they’ve never before been without drugs or force involved, and Michael carefully but inexpertly pressing his fingers inside him.

Michael moves, and it hurts, it burns, but Trevor’s not scared. Michael has one hand braced on his hip and his thumb is sweeping back and forth over his skin and it doesn’t seem calculated at all. Trevor groans when Michael scissors his fingers. It’s uncomfortable and it’s good. Michael lowers his face to the crook of Trevor’s neck, sucking at his pulse point where his throat meets his jaw. That doesn’t hurt. 

“Relax.” Michael urges, his mouth raised to Trevor’s ear, his breath hot and fast against his bare skin. He tries to obey, but he’s wanted this for a long time, and his dick is leaking on his stomach and he can feel the scratch of Michael’s jeans against his thigh, and he’s so aware of everything that he can’t focus on _anything_. He inhales deeply and tries to feel only Michael within him. Michael hums softly, pumping slowly and steadily to prepare him. It still burns some, but it starts to feel kind of good, too. Michael begins to pull away, and Trevor grabs his forearm to keep him in place, terrified that the loss of his touch will make this night evaporate like so many half-finished wet dreams. But Michael levels him with his gaze, his eyes blown wide and dark with lust, so far from the icy blue that they usually are. Trevor swallows. He loves him. More than that, he trusts him. His hand loosens. 

He releases his hold on Michael completely, allowing him to move back and strip. The light from the moon and the street lamps flickers in through the broken shutters and cast a white glow around the room. Michael does it slowly, first peeling his shirt off before throwing a smirk at Trevor and going for the top button of his jeans. Of course Michael gets off on being watched. Trevor should have guessed he loves being the source of other people’s desire. Lord knows he’s the source of Trevor’s. Michael eases the denim over his thighs and to the floor, and Trevor’s hand goes to his cock without him thinking about it. Michael was born erotic, he thinks. It comes to him so naturally. It's in his every move, his every breath. Trevor draws his bottom lip between his teeth to keep himself from moaning at Michael’s display. Michael’s eyes glitter with something between dangerous desire and light mischievousness at him from across the room.

His boxers are the last thing left, and when Michael pulls them down and kicks them away, Trevor can’t resist sitting up and rocking onto his knees at the edge of the bed to get a better look. He hears Michael’s breathing speed up as he examines him, reaching out to bring him in closer. Michael abides, walking the step or two Trevor desires until he can reach out and wrap a careful hand around the base of Michael’s dick. Michael inhales sharply through his nose. 

“I’ve never—” Trevor shuts his mouth abruptly. He almost says that he’s never seen a cock up close, but that’s not true. He’s never wanted to look at one up close, is what he means. He glances at Michael, who seems to expect him to finish his sentence. “It’s nice looking.” He says at last. Michael flashes a crooked grin at him, apparently pleased.

“Yeah?” He asks. Trevor nods. He returns to his examination, tilting his head this way and that to take in every vein, every pore, and every inch of him so that he’ll never forget it. It’s thicker than Trevor’s and maybe shorter, but not by much. The head is a deep pink, and when Trevor gives an experimental stroke, it twitches in his hand. He’s been in this position before, but he’s never been happy about it until now. He’s never cared to look too long at the men above him. But everything about Michael is breathtaking to him, and this part is certainly no exception. 

He looks up again, leaning forward just barely so that his breath brushes over the tip of the appendage. Michael is still, but a smirk is tugging at the corners of his mouth. Trevor lowers his eyes and flicks his tongue out, curious and searching. Michael hisses through his teeth. He tastes slightly salty, but otherwise it’s not all that different from any other patch of skin Trevor could put his mouth on. He parts his lips and leans in, but Michael stops him before he finds his goal. 

“Later.” He says, and Trevor’s eyes flutter shut as the joy of the promise washes over him. Later. They will do this later. 

“Michael.” The name bubbles from his lips, and that sacred word now carries a taste that will never leave it. Trevor revels in it. Michael comes down on top of him, his weight settling between Trevor’s legs as they make themselves comfortable on the bed. Michael kisses his jaw again, and Trevor’s stomach rolls over and he cants his hips up so their bare cocks brush together. Michael groans. 

Trevor is moving against him in earnest, now, rocking his hips and mewling softly into Michael’s chest, and then Michael is lifting himself up on one arm and spreading Trevor’s legs open and adjusting his hips, and Trevor finds that he wants this so badly he doesn’t know if he can wait another moment. His mouth falls open and his hand goes to Michael’s shoulder. Michael pauses and looks Trevor over, like he’s uncertain if Trevor will stop him.

“Please, Mikey.” The pet name rolls off of his tongue. Michael swallows and nods, his free hand wrapping around Trevor’s shaft and pumping as he situates himself.

Trevor knows, of course, that this means more to him than it does to Michael. Everything means more to him than it does to Michael. He understands that Michael wants to feel wanted, to feel golden and desired and like he’s _worth_ something, and that is why he is tender, now. Later (and there will be a later; Michael promised) he will be harsh and quick and it will not feel good at all. But Trevor loves him. So he will savor this moment—the feeling of Michael’s steady hand stroking him carefully to distract him from the pressure where Michael is pushing inside of him—and he will thank the stars, or god, or whatever that this is happening at all.

He’s right, it _does_ hurt, but not as badly as he thinks it will. He digs his nails into Michael’s skin, his breathing harsh and uneven as he adjusts to the feeling. Michael is patient (one of his better traits, if you ask Trevor—Michael is always playing the long game) and doesn’t move until Trevor’s hand relaxes on his shoulder, sliding instead to the back of his neck to drag him down into a searing, desperate kiss. 

Michael does the favor of humoring him, licking into Trevor’s mouth and letting him savor the taste of his lips. Michael starts to rock, still connected to Trevor at the mouth. Trevor opens his legs wider, allowing Michael the room to thrust with languid, deep strokes as he holds on to him for dear life.

“Christ, Trevor, you’re so fuckin’ _good_.” Michael praises in his ear. Trevor shudders, unable to produce anything but a low whimper in response. His legs are shaking at first from discomfort and anxiety, but slowly, it blooms into pleasure. By accident, Michael brushes something inside him just barely, and Trevor gasps in surprise. Michael makes a noise that could be an exhale or a chuckle, twisting his hips and thrusting harder at the spot, so that Trevor quakes and moans under his touch. 

“You like that?” Michael asks, sounding like a porn star with the way he growls in Trevor’s ear. Trevor nods frantically, lifting his legs to wrap around Michael’s lower back to keep him buried inside him as deeply as possible. He had no idea it could feel like this. He’d assumed _everyone_ faked it. But this? This is like being set on fire from the inside out. If this is what brimstone feels like, then Trevor will be happy to spend an eternity in hell. 

Trevor’s hands coast up Michael’s neck and wind in his hair, holding the liquid soft strands in his fingers to remind him that Michael is the one doing this to him. It’s incredible. He howls when Michael moves particularly harshly and he sees stars. He can hardly keep his breath—he’s never in his life been fucked like this. If he didn’t know before, then he certainly knows now: Trevor Philips will never be able to love anyone the way he loves Michael Townley. It’s just not possible. His chest feels like bursting, he’s so full of adoration for this man. How could anyone else fit? 

Michael is groaning praises in his ear, saying that he’s tight and hot and fuck, he’s so damn good. Trevor only hears the low rumble of his voice in his ear and feels the vibration of the words passing through Michael’s chest and into his. Michael’s head drops forward and onto Trevor’s shoulder, both of their bodies roiling and rocking with the force of their movement together. Michael’s breath is hot on Trevor’s cheek, and the smell of booze and old food and something that is only Michael washes into his nose. He feels like he’s floating. The world’s edges are fuzzy. He notices distantly that the moonlight seems brighter, the colors more intense in the room. He’s holding Michael to him, skin-to-skin, their sheets kicked into a ball at the end of the bed. His thighs tighten and his leg starts too shake. It’s too soon.

“Don’t—don’t—don’t stop, fuck, don’t stop, don’t stop, _don’t_!” He’s chanting pathetically, his hips undulating against Michael to meet his every thrust. Michael is sweating and panting, Trevor’s hands near-painfully tight in his hair, his legs locked in place around Michael’s waist. Michael’s stomach is brushing his cock with every thrust. He wants to stay like this forever, but Michael doesn’t slow down and it feels so, so good, and he’s powerless to stop it. 

“No, Michael, no—not yet, not yet, shit—please, oh, _fuck_ , Michael, I—I’m—I’m— _ungh_!” He can’t catch his breath enough to scream when he comes, his body thrashing with the violent force of it. Michael is just behind him, slipping out of Trevor and pumping himself once, twice, three times before he swears and jerks forward, ropes of his come covering Trevor’s stomach. 

And Trevor is wicked at his core, so when he catches his breath, he dips his fingers in the mess and holds Michael’s gaze as he brings the offending digits to his lips. He smears the sticky liquid across them, following with his tongue and licking the whole thing up before shooting a toothy grin at Michael. They’re both flushed and sweating and shaking, slightly. The sheets are an even worse mess than when they got here. Trevor has never been happier. 

“Fuck.” Michael gasps, eyes still glued to Trevor’s mouth. Trevor hums contentedly. 

“Yummy.” He quips. Michael is speechless. Trevor sits up, grabbing Michael by the shoulders and pulling him out of bed with him, moving towards the shower. 

“You’re a mess.” Michael says, and Trevor nods. 

“We should get in the shower.” Trevor says, as if he’d showered with Michael a million times. Michael seems to shake himself out of his haze, a crooked smile on his face.

“Fuckin’ a, we should.” He agrees, turning on the water and dragging Trevor in, their mouths connecting again under the hot water. Later, he’d said.


End file.
